


Listen to Iron Maiden (Maybe With Me)

by ConsultingWriter



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky is crushing hard, Bucky just wishes there was, M/M, No Peggy Carter bashing, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, punk!bucky, there's not any smut in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriter/pseuds/ConsultingWriter
Summary: Bucky has a giant crush on Steve Rogers, but Steve is dating the beautiful Peggy Carter. That's just how high school goes, right?Sure enough Rogers turned his head and his lips turned down at the corners and eyebrows coming together in a face that broadcasted that the blonde wasn't sure why you were being such an asshole but that you needed to stop.Bucky kind of loved it, when it wasn't directed at him. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, ever.





	Listen to Iron Maiden (Maybe With Me)

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting on my computer, half finished, since Captain America: The Winter Soldier came out in theaters. Today I finally got it in my head to finish it so here it is. I've been working on it for several hours straight and it's about as proofread as its going to get without a beta reader so. This was originally based on the song Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus (which is where the title comes from) but it got away from me.

Bucky couldn't help but watch the skinny blonde boy run around the track from his spot under the bleachers.

He took another drag of his cigarette, brushing the bottom of his lip with his thumb as he pulled the stick from between them.

Logically, he knew that the school's standard P.E. uniform was ugly as fuck: a cotton grey t-shirt with the school's logo printed in red, a pair of red running shorts—the kind the track team wore, the ones that were too short and had made his balls feel squished the one time he'd ever tried them on—and knee high tube socks. Still, his mouth couldn't help but water a bit whenever he saw Steve Rogers in them. Hell, Steve Rogers could wear a fucking lemon yellow leotard and a bright orange tutu and Bucky would still drop to his knees and beg to suck Rogers's cock.

He let the cigarette fall from his fingers and then stomped it out. God he was pathetic. He was panting after Roger harder than a bitch in heat and the little punk didn't even know. He was too busy dating Peggy Carter—cheerleader, star of the basketball team, with a top ten percent GPA, and a family with old money tied to weapons manufacturing; Bucky was lucky if he could afford a full tank of gas for his hand-me-down Harley Davidson.

With a huff he stripped off his leather jacket and draped it over one of the crossed support bars, letting the faint breeze blow over his bear skin and cursing himself that he'd decided to wear a black wife beater instead of the quarter sleeved Henley he'd eyed that morning. It was too hot to be wearing the jacket in the first place, but the school had policies against tattoos and he couldn't afford another suspension for something as stupid as flaunting school rules (even though only two of his tattoos would've been showing and they both fairly small—two matching, simple, navy colored wings were inked into the top of his arms). He was just lucky they didn't give a damn about his piercings.

He leaned on the bar beside his jacket and reached up to grab the one that was over head. He gripped the rust covered bar tightly and watched as Steve passed by to complete another lap.

Bucky sighed to himself as the couch blew his whistle, calling all the students in to him, and grabbed his jacket from the bar; stalling just a moment to watch Steve start his cool down stretches before plucking his inhaler off the concrete rim of the track. Bucky groaned, snaking down a hand to adjust himself in his denim jeans, as the other boy brought the L shaped plastic to his lips, how the hell did the little punk make using an _inhaler_ look sexy?

After a moment he slid his jacket back on and turned away before his dick got any more ideas; besides, he could get away with skipping one class but missing two was pushing it—and it didn't hurt that he had art next and Steve was in the class as well.

He sank down in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. Smirk stretching across his lips as the teacher shot him a look that was a mix between fear, resignation, and anger. It was vaguely satisfying that even the teachers knew not to fuck with him.

He dropped his feet to the floor when Steve walked into the room, not wanting the blonde to eye him with that disappointed frown he always shot at rule breakers, trouble makers, and bullies.  His thick-soled boots hit the cheap linoleum floor with heavy thuds, however, and drew the blonde's attention to him in a way he'd been trying to avoid.

Sure enough Rogers turned his head and his lips turned down at the corners and eyebrows coming together in a face that broadcasted that the blonde wasn't sure why you were being such an asshole but that you needed to stop.

Bucky kind of loved it, when it wasn't directed at him. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, ever.

At that moment, however, he fought the urge to sink down in his seat as the blonde continued to look at him. Instead Bucky cocked his eyebrow and tilted his head up in challenge.

The blonde rolled his eyes and turned his back to Bucky.

Fuck. Now Rogers hated him. Or not. Hell, Rogers probably didn't even know who Bucky was; none of the "popular" (and it almost hurt him to think the word, what was this? High School Musical? Such titles were fucking childish) kids did.

Before he could decide on what to do next (he was torn between getting up and leaving and just sticking the hour out) the teacher called the class's attention to him and announced that the day would be another free sketch day.

He hid a smile and dug his sketchbook out of his bag. Bucky hated to admit it, but he actually liked sketching; he wasn't the best, but he thought he was at least passably decent at it.

As the rest of the class immediately set to work, Bucky propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He'd never been any good with character design, and he only had a barebones rough sketch on the paper; it had taken him half the class period last time, he'd always been terrible at coming up with ideas on the spot.

After a few minutes of thinking it over he touched his pencil to the page; something comic-y, maybe a superhero. He'd always loved comics as a kid, still did, actually.

Slowly the figure—a man, tall and strong—took shape on the page. His uniform was striped on the stomach and solid on the torso with a star placed in the center of his chest. The man was staring straight ahead, eyes boring into Bucky's with a look that just _dared_ him to doubt the man or his abilities. A booted foot was propped on something—Bucky wanted to draw a body, maybe the corpse of a defeated enemy, but his hands wouldn't listen; as if they knew the man was too respectful to desecrate a body like that.  A circular shield was strapped to the man's right arm, which was turned on a way that showed the shield's design off, the left arm hung at the man's side.

Bucky almost blushed in horrified mortification when he realized that the man's face was almost an exact copy of Steve Rogers's. He wondered if a mask would obscure the similarities, but before he could attempt it, the teacher called the class to order. Reminding them to date the work and leave their sketchbooks so he could grade their “work.” Participation is what he really meant, Bucky knew, he could’ve drawn a stick figure beating a piñata and it would’ve been fine.

He flipped the book closed and tucked his pencil in his bag before anyone could catch a glimpse of his sketch.

The other kids scurried out of his way when he went to turn the spiral into the teacher and Bucky sneered, fucking cowards. Only one stood his ground, lifting his chin when Bucky walked up. Blue eyes flashed at Bucky in defiance and he felt his knees go weak. Steve was a gorgeous little spitfire and Bucky wanted him in any way possible—in every way possible.

Instead of falling to his knees and worshiping the other teen like the fucking God he was, Bucky raised an eyebrow in amusement and moved to stand behind the blonde in line.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes," the teacher said drolly, as Rogers set his sketchbook down and went to move out of the way "I do hope you got more done today then you did last time, it would be a real achievement, even for you, but it is possible to fail art class, you know."

Bucky held back a snarl and resisted the impulse to punch the bastard in his face; the teacher was trying to embarrass Bucky, revenge for earlier, the punk knew, but Bucky wasn't going to let some old man show him up.

Instead he flipped the book open and showed him his drawing, holding it in a way that hid the sketch from everyone else's prying eyes.

The teacher's eyebrows flew to his hairline and a knowing smile tugged at the older man's lips "Well, well Mr. Barnes, it seems like you have more talent than you like to show. I'm impressed."

 _Fuck off,_ he thought as he felt heat creeping up his neck and narrowed his eyes, daring the man to say more, but the man didn't. His eyes twinkled with amusement but he gently pulled the spiral from Bucky's hands, closed it, laying it on top of Steve's, and waved him away.

He eyed the teacher for a moment before he turned away and slowly packed up his bag, killing the last few moments of class time before they bell rang. Just over the rustle of backpacks and the whispers of the other students, Bucky could hear Steve talking to the teacher but he turned his attention away from it; it wasn’t any of his business.

"Mr. Barnes!" the teacher called before he could make it out the door, "Be here before classes start in the morning, I'd like to discuss this drawing before class tomorrow."

Bucky paused, but didn't turn around, and nodded his head once, knowing the teacher saw his agreement.

Bucky made it out to the parking lot before the rest of the students shuffled out into the halls and filed out to their cars and the buses.

He pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, picked one from the pack, and lit it with a quick flick of his lighter. It wasn't that he was waiting for anyone, he was simply waiting for some of the crowd to clear out instead of getting stuck of getting in the flurry of traffic the last bell of the day always caused; and if he got to watch Steve Rogers jog down the school's steps and make his way across the parking lot to Peggy's car, well, that was just a happy coincidence.

He swung a leg over, straddled his bike, pushing the kickstand up with the heel of his boot, and leaned on the handle bars; might as well get comfortable.

When Rogers finally jogged past—bag bouncing against the light curve of his ass—Bucky clicked his teeth together and huffed out an excited breath through his nose. He just wanted to bite into that soft looking flesh, even if there was barely anything there.

When the blonde jogged out of his line of vision Bucky sighed and threw his cigarette butt on the ground before starting his bike up. With one last look in the direction that Steve had jogged off in Bucky sighed, revved the engine, and gunned it; Ms. Hanson, the elderly woman who lived next door, had been having problems with her knees and hadn't been able to pull the weeds from her garden and he'd decided to do it for her while she was at a doctor's appointment as a birthday surprise.

Bucky was kneeling beside a tomato plant and dusting the dirt from his hands over an hour later when his neighbor's back door opened and a voice called his name.

"Bucky Barnes! How dare you hop the fence without coming in to great an old woman?"

Bucky chuckled and pushed himself off the ground “Aw, you know you'll always be the sweetest gal to me, Ms. H, you ain't old yet."

She gave a throaty laugh "You know how to charm a lady Barnes, I'll give you that. Now come inside, I want you to meet my granddaughter and her boyfriend; also, you look like you could use a snack."

Bucky grinned and trotted to the steps at the base of the porch. Ms. H also had the best goodies. That was part of why he liked her. The other part was her razor wit, easy sarcasm, and her firecracker attitude.

His grin widened when he realized that the woman had already filled 'his' glass (a tall square shaped plastic cup with small cats painted on its clear walls) with ice and lemonade.

As he gulped down half the glass he watched Ms. H pull a sheet from her oven and hissed out a quiet 'yes' when he recognized what was on the thin tray.

Oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies; Bucky's favorite. 

He piled a few onto a plate and balanced it on top of his glass while the other hand reached out to snatch up one more cookie, which immediately went into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

“Slow down before you choke,” she scolded good naturedly, “they aren’t going to run off.”

“They might,” Bucky mumbled around another bite, “They might run right into your mouth instead.”

She smacked his chest, “Watch that mouth of yours, Bucky. That almost sounded like you were calling a lady fat.”

“Me? Never.”

She hummed and hooked her arm around the elbow of his free hand, “Now come, I don’t want to keep my girl waiting.”

Bucky let her lead him into the living room and immediately wished he hadn’t. There, seated opposite of the kitchen doorway on Ms. Hanson’s little pink loveseat were Peggy Carter and the one and only Steve Rogers. Bucky stood in the doorway that connected the living room and the kitchen in his sweat soaked, dirt covered tank top with cookie crumbs on his lips feeling like an idiot. He brought up a hand and self consciously wiped the back of it against his lips; he felt so gross.

“Peggy, Steve,” Ms. H said pulling Bucky to sit with her over on the coach, “This is Bucky Barnes, he lives next door and is sweet enough to come keep an old lady company when he can.”

Bucky blushed from the praise and ignored the way Steve’s eyebrow twitched in disbelief. Peggy leaned over the arm of the loveseat and extended her hand, “Nice to finally meet the Bucky that I’ve heard so much about,” she said with a smile that Bucky returned.

That was the shitty thing about Peggy Carter. There was no way that Bucky could actually dislike her for dating Steve because she was genuinely nice and sweet and perfect for Steve in all the ways that Bucky just wasn’t.

“Though I have to admit,” she said slyly, cutting her at her grandmother, “When she kept mentioning a ‘Bucky’ I thought maybe Gran had found herself a new man.”

Bucky choked and Ms. Hanson cackled, “Oh if only I where forty years younger, but no. Bucky’s just a sweetheart who comes around to help out. Why just now, I found him out in the garden pulling weeds.”

Steve stayed silent but Bucky could feel the weight of his gaze on him, even when Bucky kept his eyes focused on everything else but the blonde.

“That’s so kind of you!” Peggy tittered, “Steven and I actually came over today for the same reason.”

An awkward smile stretched across his lips, “Great minds thing alike I guess?” He offered. The rest of the afternoon past in the same manor of polite conversation and almost awkward pauses of silence but in the end Bucky thought he did a decent job socializing with the guy of his dreams and said guy’s wonderful girlfriend.

“Well Gran,” Peggy said, standing up and stretching, “Steven and I have to go but I’ll be around this weekend for another visit. She hugged Ms. H and grabbed Steve by the hand.

“See you at school tomorrow, Bucky,” she tossed over her shoulder as they headed to the door.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled and shoved the last cookie in his mouth.

Ms. H shook her head and started cleaning up the cookie tray and their glasses, waving Bucky away as he moved to help her. “Such nice kids,” she sighed with a shake of her head, “But I wish they’d realize they just aren’t meant to be.”

He pushed down the urge to defend Steve and instead asked her what she meant.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have,” she explained, mysteriously, “You just know these things.”

Bucky shook his head with an amused huff but let the matter drop. It didn’t make any difference to him anyways.

 

* * *

 

Killing the engine of his motorcycle Bucky pulled off his helmet and ruffled his hair down from the bowl style that the helmet had shaped it into. The parking lot was mostly empty so Bucky didn’t feel too rushed to get out of the way and into the building. Instead he took a moment to strip off his jacket and stretch, taking a moment to enjoy the morning air before he headed inside.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” the art teacher said, already settled into his desk, “so you decided to honor me with your presence after all.”

He wondered for a brief moment what sort of punishment he’d get for shooting a teacher the bird. Instead he rolled his eyes, “Look, if you don’t need anything, I’m going to leave.”

The teacher waved his hand, “Settle down, Barnes, and take a seat. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

 _Well then get to it_ , it was on the tip of his tongue but Bucky swallowed it down instead and sat on top of the desk closest to the teacher’s.

“I’ll cut right to the chase then,” the teacher said, pulling Bucky’s sketchbook from the stack and flipping it open, “I think you should join the art club.”

That was just about the last thing Bucky expected. He blinked and leaned back, eyeing the teacher for any signs of a joke. The teacher held his stare and let him search for any hint of deceit.

“You’re very good, Mr. Barnes,” he admitted, tapping the page that Bucky had been working on the day before, “and I think with practice and guidance you could become great,” he held up a hand to cut off Bucky’s immediate rejection.

“Hear me out, Mr. Barnes,” he said, “I know you work after school, which is why I’ve arranged for the art club’s president to come in before school on meeting days to work with you one-on-one should you decide to join.”

The art club president. Steve Rogers. If he joined the art club he could spend a few days a week with his crush. On the other hand, that meant that he would have to spend a few days a week before school trying not to embarrass himself in front of his crush. And if Steve saw that drawing? Bucky would die from mortification.

“Mr. Mars,” a familiar voice said from the doorway and Bucky mentally cursed. Dammit, he was fucked now, “Mr. Mars, is this the new art club member?”

“Ah Steve,” Mr. Mars smiled and waved the boy in, “yes, this is the one I was talking to you about.”

The sound of shoes on tile paused right behind him.

“Bucky?”

He jerked at that, surprised at the sound of his name on Steve’s lips, and turned his head to meet those gorgeous baby blues.

“Hi,” Bucky muttered, turning around again to look at the teacher.

“Mr. Barnes was just about to give me an answer when you came in,” the teacher explained, “So what’s it going to be, Barnes? Do I have a new art club member?”

Bucky felt a little helpless, “I don’t know anything about art,” he tried as an excuse but Steve was quick with an answer.

“You don’t need to,” Steve jumped in, sounding excited about the prospect of a new member, “That’s why Mr. Mars is here, to teach us.”

So, he was screwed. There was no way he could disappoint Steve when he sounded that happy over Bucky.

“Yeah, okay,” he admitted defeat, “you’ve got a new art club member.”

“That’s great!” Steve said, and the weird thing was, he sounded like he actually meant it.

Mr. Mars handed Bucky his sketchbook with a smug grin. Bucky returned the smirk with a flat look but slid off the desk, accepted his sketchbook from the teacher, and dug out

“So,” Steve said, setting his stuff down beside the desk Bucky had originally been sitting on, “Can I see your sketch from yesterday?”

Bucky shifted and gripped the sketchbook to his chest, “I’d like to finish it first,” he was sure if he could get that helmet on the character’s head it would hide the fact that it was Steve’s face.

Steve nodded in understanding, “I understand.”

Bucky flashed him a smile but felt a start of confusion at the way Steve blinked and jerked in reaction. Blue eyes darted down to the blank sheet on Steve’s desk and Bucky shrugged, deciding to follow Steve’s example.

They worked in silence but it wasn’t an easy going or comfortable silence. It was something similar to those short but awkward lulls in conversation at Ms. H’s house the night before. For a moment Bucky wondered if it was just him, if maybe he was the one making it so awkward. He stopped sketching and opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth. And then gathered his courage and opened it again. And stopped again. He went back to sketching, tilting his head one way and then the next as he worked on getting the helmet to fit with the rest of the outfit.

“So,” it was Steve who finally broke the silence, and Bucky was glad for it, “How long have you been drawing for?”

Bucky lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I don’t really,” he explained, “I’ve always just doodled on the corners of pages but I’ve never really sat down with the intention to draw anything.”

He paused to concentrate on putting the finishing touches on the helmet before continuing with, “What about you?”

“I’ve always like art. Not just creating but I enjoy going to museums and shows,” Bucky could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “I feel like I was born with a pencil in my hand, I’ve been drawing for so long.”

“That’s really cool,” Bucky admitted. He lifted his sketchbook and looked the entire sketch over. There was still some resemblance to Steve’s face, he noted, but you really couldn’t tell unless you were looking for it.

“I uh,” he started, “here, if you wanna look at it.” He held it out to Steve as an offering and the blonde took it from him with a wide grin.

“Wow, Bucky,” Steve exhaled, “This is great!”

Heat filled his cheeks at the compliment and he ducked his head, “Thanks.”

“No really,” Steve was almost vibrating in his seat, “This is great! And you’ve never had art classes or anything?”

Bucky shook his head, hoping the blush would die down before Steve noticed it, “I just like comics,” he admitted, “so I sketch them on the margins of my papers sometimes.”

“Really?” Steve looked up at him, “What comics do you like?”

Bucky leaned closer in his excitement and listed the series that he’d been reading lately and the ones head enjoyed in the past. Steve interjected here and there, adding his own opinions and theories and Bucky found himself starting arguments just to see Steve get worked up.

The way his eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted out when he was holding fast to an ideal made him look like a warrior God ready to go to war and Bucky desperately wanted to lay himself at the alter and worship him.

“Alright, boys,” Mr. Mars cut in, “pack it up and get ready, the bell’s going to ring any second.”

“See you Friday then?” Steve asked, cheeks pinked from their arguments.

“Friday,” Bucky agreed, ignoring the way he wanted to kiss every inch of Steve’s skin.

 

* * *

 

And so, it went like that for several weeks. They’d meet up in the mornings before school, going from two days a week to three to meeting up every day. If they weren’t in Mr. Mars’s room working on their projects they were hanging around outside the school’s steps, arguing over the latest issue of their favorite series. Everything was great. Sure, Bucky was falling more and more in love with every breath Steve took but that was surprisingly okay. He was honestly happy just to be in Steve’s company.

And then one day it wasn’t great. Steve showed up late to their meeting with sagging shoulders and red rimmed eyes. He plopped down beside Bucky without so much as a ‘how do you do’ and pulled out his sketchbook, seeming very disinclined to talk.

Bucky let it go for the first ten minutes but finally shut his book and turned to Steve, “Alright, what’s up?”

Steve froze, shut his own book, and buried his head in his hands. “Peggy broke up with me just a minute ago,” he mumbled, seeming to sink into himself.

“Ah,” Bucky wasn’t sure what to say about that. He didn’t want to ask why, even though he desperately wanted to know. Instead he reached out and gently touched Steve’s arm, “Do you want to get out of here?” He asked instead.

“How?” Steve asked, not pulling his hands away from his face, “I rode to school with Peggy.”

He let Steve mope for a minute while he packed their things back up and slung both bags over his shoulder.

 “Good thing she’s not the only one with a ride,” Bucky mused, pushing himself off of the stone steps, “Come on.”

He held out a hand and almost immediately Steve’s own small fingers were slipping into it. Bucky tugged lightly, hauling Steve up with very little effort. Reluctantly he dropped Steve’s hand but busied himself by shrugging off his jacket, juggling their bags as he did so.

“This way,” he jerked his head in the direction of his bike and Steve followed, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed as they came to a stop in front of his bike, “This is yours?”

“Yeah,” Bucky couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. He’d saved and scraped up since he was thirteen for this motorcycle and even though it was clearly second hand he was proud of it.

“Here,” he said, holding out his jacket to Steve, “Put this on.”

“I can’t,” Steve said firmly, “If I take it you won’t have anything to wear, and it’s your jacket.”

“God,” Bucky huffed, “You’re such a stubborn little _punk_ ,” he huffed again, “You’re right though, it _is_ my jacket, so if I want to give it to you, then it’s within my rights to do so, now put it on.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Bucky braced himself for battle—he was familiar enough with that look from the past few weeks that he knew that it meant he was in for it. The fury he expected never came, however, and Steve’s shoulders slumped instead, causing Bucky to frown. If Steve was too tired to fight then something was definitely wrong.

With a sigh Bucky wrapped the jacket around Steve’s shoulders. Steve took the cue and slipped his arms into the sleeves and when he was done Bucky handed him the backpacks to shoulder as well.

“When you get on, put your feet here,” he pointed to the silver pegs at the back and handed Steve his helmet, “put this on and hold on to my waist.”

He slid onto the bike and righted it, kicking the stand up, while Steve strapped the helmet on. Steve settled clumsily behind him and slid his arms around Bucky’s waist. He didn’t clutch Bucky close or mold up against his back the way Bucky wished he would but he held on tight enough not to fall off and that was good enough. Besides, Bucky really shouldn’t be thinking about how Steve would feel fitted up against him right now, not when Steve was suffering from the break up with his long-term girlfriend.

Warmth filled in the pit of his stomach when he realized that Steve didn’t ask where they were going, that he trusted Bucky enough to just take off with him at the drop of a hat. With that in mind Bucky eased them onto the road and turned towards his house, figuring that Steve probably wasn’t up to being out in public.

Despite his own desire to take the long way home Bucky chose the quickest route. The ride was over too soon but that was fine because by the time he killed the engine he could feel that Steve was about to come apart on the back of his motorcycle.

Without thinking about it, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and lead him into his house and up the stairs to his room. He settled Steve down on the bed and tucked their backpacks out of the way. When he looked up from that, Steve was staring off at the wall with the helmet still on his head.

Bucky tisked but gently unstrapped the helmet and tugged it off of Steve’s head, “Wanna talk about it?” He finally asked, not sure of what else he could say.

“No,” Steve croaked.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for another moment before Bucky got up and pulled a few trade-backs off of the book shelf. He settled at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and stretched his legs out. If Steve wanted to sit in silence, he could do that until Steve was ready to talk.

It felt like hours before he felt Steve shift at the edge of the bed. He looked up to see Steve carefully kicking his shoes off and shuffling up the mattress to sit by Bucky. He picked up one of the comics Bucky had selected and snorted at the cover but opened it up anyway. Bucky held his breath for a beat and waited for Steve to say something but let it go when the blonde remained silent.

“Peggy doesn’t like comics,” Steve commented offhandedly, tracing a finger down one of the glossy pages.

Bucky stayed silent and like he hoped, Steve continued.

“She thinks they’re childish, says they’re not real forms of literature.”

Bucky blinked at that, “Weird.” He often connected more intimately then the characters of comics then the characters of even the greatest novels.

“Yeah,” Steve almost sighed and then fell quiet once more.

He finished one book and then three more before Steve finally cleared his throat and spoke up once more, “She didn’t give me a reason.”

Bucky closed his book and gave Steve his full attention.

“She just said it wasn’t working out but she didn’t tell me why. I didn’t ask.”

“You can, you know,” Bucky said, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his, “I think she would tell you if you really want to know.”

Steve shook his head, “Not right now. I don’t want to know right now.”

Bucky nodded his head, “That’s okay too.”

Steve was silent for a minute and then, “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Stevie?”

The blonde paused at the nickname but continued with a small smile, “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky was ninety percent sure that Steve and Peggy were going to get back together. Not that he told Steve that. Still. It was just a feeling that he had in his gut. They were too perfect _not_ to be together.

Which was why, when Prom rolled around, Peggy’s invitation came as no surprise to Bucky. It did, however, shock Steve, who stood there gaping like a fish out of water.

“I,” Steve started, “What?”

“Go to prom with me,” Peggy repeated.

“I—” he stopped again, “Can we talk in private?”

She nodded but didn’t look nervous, not the way Bucky was. Maybe she knew something Bucky didn’t? It wasn’t like he’d planned on asking Steve to the prom—couldn’t bare to ruin such a good friendship—but he’d kind of hoped that Steve wouldn’t go with anyone else.

“The library should be free,” Peggy commented and Steve took it for what it was and moved to follow her. He took a few steps then paused.

Steve looked back at Bucky and shrugged, face twisted up in apologetic confusion, but Bucky waved it off. He couldn’t help the sour rush of his stomach or the jealousy that snaked along his veins.

This sucked. 

* * *

 

“Why’d you say no?” Bucky asked, trying to hide his disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was wrong. Ecstatic about it, but still.  

Steve shrugged, “I just don’t understand why she’d want to go to her Senior Prom with her ex-boyfriend, I guess.”

Bucky watched the way that Steve’s charcoals skated over the page and thought the explanation over. It was reasonable, he supposed, but he had a feeling that that wasn’t the only reason. Still, he kept that opinion to himself for now.

“What are you drawing?” He asked instead, leaning over the expanse of bed that separated them to sneak a peek.

He blinked, surprised, when Steve tilted the sketch pad away from Bucky to hide its contents.

“Not yet,” Steve chided and Bucky rolled his eyes. It was the artist in Steve, he supposed; he never wanted to show anyone anything until it was completely done.

Instead he sat back and picked up his pencil to get busy on his own drawing. It was another sketch of who he’d dubbed ‘Hero-Steve’ not that Stevie knew that Bucky’s reoccurring character was based on him.

He traced and erased and resketched until his fingers cramped and he finally had to put the pencil down but Steve continued to work. Concentration etched in every line on his face. Bucky wouldn’t admit it but the anticipation was starting to wear on him. Steve had been working on the same project for almost three weeks and he hadn’t let anything slip about what it was yet.

It was strange but Bucky enjoyed Steve working as much as Steve enjoyed it. He enjoyed the way Steve fell into a rhythm, the way he concentrated and the pride at his final product.

He must have dozed off like that, simply watching Steve work because the next thing he knew, he was blinking himself awake in an empty room that was darker then he remembered it being. He started to roll over but stopped when he heard the crinkle of paper sounding from by his shoulder.

Pausing, he pushed himself up and clicked on his bedside lamp to look the page over. It was a drawing. A comic, and Bucky knew immediately that this is what Steve had been working on for so long.

The first panel of the comic was Steve and Bucky sitting on Bucky’s bed. He couldn’t help the way that his eyes flicked over the panel, taking in every detail in. The second was of Bucky falling asleep, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder. The third was Steve looking and smiling. Fourth: Steve pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky froze and touched his forehead, warmth rushing in his cheeks and in his gut. He pushed on, willing his eyes away from that panel and onto the next.

The fifth showed Steve looking up, and meeting the real Bucky’s gaze. The sixth showed Steve taking a breath.

The seventh, and final panel, depicted Steve talking with a speech bubble that said “Will you go to prom with me?”

Bucky couldn’t breathe. Felt the page slip from his fingers. He left it there and sprang from the bed. He raced down the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab his coat and keys, before rushing out the door.

It was hard to keep himself from speeding through the streets and blowing through the stop signs along his route. He wanted to get to Steve’s house as quickly as he could, but he didn’t want to die attempting to do it.

He got there and record time and reigned himself in just enough to lightly knock at the door. Steve opened it and Bucky ignored the nervous look on his face. Instead he snagged Steve’s head—one hand wrapping around the back of his head, running his fingers through that soft blonde hair, while the other cupped his cheek—and pulled him in for a kiss.

Steve’s lips were soft and soon the gentle press wasn’t enough and Bucky was nipping at the pink flesh under his own, begging for entrance. With a moan, Steve parted his lips and let Bucky in. The hand on Steve’s cheek slipped down to cup that thin waist to pull that smaller body flush against his own. The feeling of Steve pressed so tightly to him tore a moan from Bucky’s throat and after a moment he forced himself to pull away.

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes locked on Steve’s, “Yes, I wanna go to prom with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to drop a line to let me know what you thought!


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